You and the Night and the Music
by intrepidclass
Summary: [P/C] [Post-Nemesis] After meeting Doctor Crusher and Captain Picard, Admiral Janeway decides to do something about their unresolved situation.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's ****notes:**

- First of all, I want to thank picrusher for her extremely generous offer to beta this story. I am very grateful for her invaluable and unselfish contribution. (*hugs*)

- As for the story itself, it's set immediately after "Nemesis" (including its deleted scenes).

- Remember how uncharacteristically open and funny Jean-Luc was in that? Please keep that in mind while reading this story. I'm assuming the whole "First Contact" Borg revival changed him into a less detached guy.

- I know that BCrush was a blond in the movies, but I'll have none of that: she's still a redhead.

- The movies are canon for this story, but the books of the TNG relaunch series are not.

- This is a P/C story, most definitely, but there are hints of Janeway/Crusher. If you're not OK with that, then please don't go on. There's only enough to make JL see the light. Well, that and the fact that, in my headcanon, Janeway was always more into girls than guys. And no, none of the characters think it's anything out of the ordinary, because it's the 24th century, and the human race is supposed to have evolved, intellectually and socially.

- I'll shut up now. It's just that this is my first P/C story and only the second one I've ever written (the other being E/O – you know, from SVU). So please (pretty please) review. I'll need it if I want to keep trying. :D

* * *

**You and the Night and the Music**

[Officer's mess hall]

Admiral Kathryn Janeway quickly assessed the room she had just entered. When she reached an empty table in the corner, a few seconds later, she had already formed a mental map of the place and its current occupants. It was something she did without premeditation. Maybe it was part of being a Starfleet officer. But then maybe it predated her Academy years, and was a personal trait that had made her choose to be a scientist in the first place. At that moment, however, she was off duty, and tried to make herself relax.

The admiral often chose to skip dinner (what was the point of eating when a cup - or two - of coffee would do just fine?). That evening, however, she had yielded to the gentle pestering of one of her assistants. This young lieutenant's choice of words had reminded the admiral of her old friend Neelix. The discourse went somewhat along the lines of how she should drink less coffee and have something to eat every once in a while. The memory it brought back was the reason she had conceded the point to Lieutenant Suárez. For someone had who passed so many years trying to escape the Delta Quadrant and the confinements of Voyager, Janeway certainly did spend a lot of time feeling nostalgic about the life she had led on that ship. Or so she noticed at that moment. After letting out a sigh, she ordered a cup of coffee and a small bowl of vegetable soup.

Her coffee arrived quickly and while she sipped from the cup, she closed her eyes, once again resolved to try to relax. The first couple of sips were always the best, because the coffee still maintained the right temperature. She felt the hot liquid in her mouth, making her gums tingle from the activated circulation.

That was a sensation that never got old.

When she opened her eyes, something caught her attention out of her peripheral vision. Upon closer inspection, she saw that she was being observed. The woman gave her a constrained smiled and politely looked away. Admiral Janeway remembered seeing her when entering the room. The other one had been drinking what seemed to be a cup of tea and sitting alone at a table nearby. The admiral remembered her distinctly because, when the doors opened, the other woman had abruptly looked up, and then all the light had left her eyes (figuratively speaking, of course). Clearly, she had been expecting someone and was very much disappointed that Janeway was not that person.

As much as the latter tried to remember the stranger, she couldn't. She was certain they'd never met. And no, the admiral was not one for social gatherings, but she knew a lot of the senior officers who worked at Starfleet Headquarters. The other woman, a commander in rank, must have been a newcomer, or so Janeway thought, because she doubted that she would have forgotten such an acquaintance.

She seemed to Janeway to be of the same age as she was, or perhaps a bit older. And her hair was also red, but the stranger was in no way a small woman like herself. She had long legs. And long fingers. And a viciously long neck. She was also extremely beautiful, with blue eyes that matched her uniform.

Then it was the stranger's turn to look up and find herself the object of the admiral's attention. She didn't smile, though, as she glanced surreptitiously at the digital clock on the wall for the fifth time since Janeway had started to count. Whoever she was expecting was late. But who would leave such a woman waiting? Everything about her was pleasing: her quiet, collected demeanor, that look in her eyes (what was it, sadness?) that spiked one's curiosity, the charming way in which she held her cup (ignoring the handle and its function)... Admiral Janeway thought about how much the other woman stood out in that room. People were drinking, laughing and talking loudly, some of them were dancing or playing table games. The stranger drew attention to herself (Janeway's attention, at any rate) exactly because she wasn't doing anything to attract it - unlike everyone else around her.

That was precisely the thought on Janeway's mind when one of the members of the Bajoran band that was playing announced their last song for the evening over the microphone. The admiral then saw the other woman sigh, stand up and leave, without so much as a single glance her way.

_I'll __just __have __to __find __out, __now, __won't __I?__,_ Janeway thought.


	2. Chapter 2

[Starfleet Headquarters]

A few days later, Admiral Janeway was pacing the turbolift she was then occupying, one hand on her waist, the other massaging her right temple. She had just come out of a meeting and was marveling at how little some admirals seemed to know of the inner-workings of a starship on a mission. Had they forgotten? Was her scientist's objectivity or her captain's drive to be obliterated by prolonged exposure to bureaucracy? The turbolift came to a halt and its doors opened, making the admiral sigh in frustration. She wanted to arrive at the ground floor as soon as possible, because she needed to pace up and down someplace larger than that confined area. Her pacing stopped, however, when she saw that the recently arrived occupant was the woman from the mess hall. Janeway's right hand left her temple and joined the left one in the task of encircling her small waist.

"Admiral Janeway," the woman said, with a nod of her head.

"You have me at a disadvantage, Commander."

"It's "Doctor", actually. Doctor Beverly Crusher."

The admiral smiled, her face assuming an amused expression.

"Head of Starfleet Medical. Of course. Former Chief Medical Officer of the Starship Enterprise. I've read some of your papers, Doctor." She changed her tone to a lower, more personal one. "I should have guessed, I'm sorry."

"I expect you had more on your mind other than Starfleet personnel back in the Delta Quadrant, Admiral," Crusher said, sounding amused.

They both smiled as the turbolift reached the ground floor. Observing protocol, Doctor Crusher waited for the admiral to exit first.

"I understand you've only been here for two weeks," Admiral Janeway stated, and Crusher nodded her reply. "You were aboard the Enterprise, then, when it was almost destroyed by the Scimitar."

_Because __I __sent __it __there,_ Janeway thought, bitterly.

"I was," Crusher said, out of politeness, for the admiral wasn't really asking.

"How is Jean-Luc?"

The corner of the doctor's mouth twitched, slightly. Janeway wondered if they had decided to end their relationship. Was that why the doctor had requested to be transferred to Earth? The admiral thought back. Captain Picard's relationship with his Chief Medical Officer was a well-known fact at Starfleet Headquarters. However, the two officer's failure to report it made it into a somewhat hushed subject. While there were no policies against such involvements, Starfleet didn't encourage them either. And because Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher were outstanding officers, possibly the best captain and the best doctor in the fleet, Starfleet had decided long ago to look the other way. It was Janeway's experience, however, that whenever one of them was mentioned in a circle someone would somehow manage to make a veiled allusion to their connection. It was generally thought that they didn't disclose the relationship lest it should stir up some gossip concerning her husband's death. Perhaps they didn't know that it already had. But it all made sense, now. Doctor Crusher must have been expecting Jean-Luc the other night. Of course! The Enterprise was still being refitted in drydock, orbiting Earth. Why Jean-Luc had failed to show up was beyond her. She hoped he had a very good reason, because she admired and liked Jean-Luc (which was why she had inquired after him in the first place), and she wanted to continue to feel that way towards him.

"He's... fine," the doctor replied, a little taken aback by the unexpected question.

"I imagine he's been busy, with the repairs to the ship and all."

"Yes, Admiral. I'm sure you know how it is with captains and their ships."

Doctor Crusher gave one of those smiles with which she usually, and unconsciously, followed her sharp remarks. It accompanied an expression of mock innocence. Then Admiral Janeway smiled too, and the doctor inevitably compared her expressive eyes, which concealed very little, to the congealed mask that Jean-Luc wore most of the time, even when they were alone together.

"Doctor, before we met in the turbolift, I was... preoccupied."

"I could see that, Admiral."

"But now all that is forgotten, thanks to you. Let me repay you."

"Oh, Admiral, really, there is no—"

"Besides, you'd be doing me a favor. I would kill for a cup of coffee right now. And believe me when I say that was not a figure of speech."

The doctor smiled. She liked Admiral Janeway's direct manner. And it certainly would be nice to spend time with someone who was closer to her age, instead of being surrounded by a score of questioning young geniuses. Yes, she liked being needed, and she thrived in a fast-paced rhythm of work, but it could be consuming nevertheless.

"Well, if that is the case, we'd better go," Doctor Crusher said, as seriously as she could. "I know a place where they make a delicious decaf."

The horrified look on Admiral Janeway's face was priceless. It dissolved into one of relief once she realized that Doctor Crusher, who was again smiling, had only been teasing. But without further ado, they set off in the direction of Market Street, which was the address of Kathryn Janeway's favorite coffee shop.


	3. Chapter 3

[The Enterprise]

"Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,  
The dear repose for limbs with travail tired;  
But then begins a journey in my head  
To work my mind, when body's work's expired.  
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,  
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,  
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,  
Looking on darkness which the blind do see.  
Save that my soul's imaginary sight  
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,  
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,  
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.  
Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,  
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find."

Jean-Luc Picard closed the book from which he had been reading out loud and put it away as roughly as he could. This means that he gently pushed it aside, being the bibliophile that he was, and left the rough part of "roughly" to his frown.

"Rubbish!" he exclaimed.

Now, he didn't think that Mr. Shakespeare's sonnet was rubbish, no, but why on Earth had he chosen to read that one? Out of 154 sonnets, why was that particular poem refusing to leave him alone ever since after breakfast that morning? He couldn't remember how the verse went, whether it was "presents thy sightless shadow to my view" or "presents thy shadow to my sightless view", which was innocent enough! But then he'd read it, and it made him angry with himself.

What he needed was something technical and objective to read, something that would require his whole attention. And so he tried to read the reports that had come in later in the day. Sensors were operating at 85% efficiency. Tests were still being conducted on the warp coils. Communication had been reestablished throughout the ship and so on. Somehow, those were not as engrossing as they should have been.

The captain put down his PADD and stared out the window. He could see Earth, since the Enterprise was orbiting it. He could not, however, see the American continent.

That restlessness he was feeling, which made it difficult for him to concentrate, wasn't infrequent. But it was usually brought upon by work-related worries, such as... imminent destruction or... the Borg invasion. He didn't fuss like that for personal reasons, not often, not really. Personal matters worried him, of course, but they didn't keep him from functioning. On the contrary, they made him immerse himself (even more) in his job. The important thing to be considered was that Jean-Luc Picard did not, or rather was not supposed to fidget about a missed appointment!

It made no sense. Something was terribly wrong with him.

It would have been easier, he thought, if Will and Deanna were still aboard the ship. That was the problem, he reasoned, even more fervently: he was overreacting because he was under a lot of stress due to all the changes that were taking place!

A sound from his intercom interrupted his train of thought. It was an incoming transmission, and he smiled when he saw that it was from Deanna Troi. It was as if she'd sensed it, which he didn't think she could.

"Deanna, how lovely to hear from you. I'm surprised you're still within communication range."

"Captain, Will and I wanted to know how everything was, you know, with the Enterprise... after _all_ the reassignments... We wanted to call before we left Earth."

She made a point out of emphasizing the word "all".

"With the Enterprise? You mean with me!" he said, with mock indignation.

"Well, now that you mention it, I have been concerned for you on that matter, yes."

"I'm fine, Deanna. It's just that..." he sighed. "It takes a little while getting used to not having Data around, and you, and Will."

"What about Beverly?" she asked bluntly.

If she hadn't been trained, the counselor would have missed the slight impatience in his tone.

"What about her?"

"Don't you find it difficult to be away from her as well?"

"Of course I do, Counselor, she's my closest friend!"

At that moment, Deanna correctly assessed that his sudden use of her title and the defensive attitude he'd assumed meant that she had hit the spot.

"I know that, Captain," she said, smiling. "You know, Will and I have always been best friends as well."

Picard chose to ignore the insinuation, and so Counselor Troi continued.

"Captain, it doesn't take an empath to realize that you're upset."

And that was the truth. Deanna knew about Beverly. She had known from the moment the doctor had come aboard for the first time. She _was_ an empath, how could she not have known? Every time she was with Beverly, she sensed what people felt when they watched her go, and that included the captain. She knew about every young ensign who'd had a crush on Beverly (and there had been many). She knew about the Zalkon, about the thief who posed as a historian from the future and about Odan.

And she knew about Kesprytt III.

Captain Picard's emotions towards the doctor, especially after the Kesprytt incident, were so overwhelming that she sometimes had trouble shutting them out. She sensed guilt, most of the time, and confusion, but also more pleasant feelings. She remembered how surprised she was when she found out the captain was not the cold and distant man he appeared to be. What she got from him on certain occasions, when she was able to see the two of them together, made her realize that he was, indeed, a romantic. He brooded and longed and suffered, but he didn't show it. Will had laughed when she'd told him about this romantic streak. He'd said that Captain Picard was the most practical man he knew. "Of course he is", she'd replied, "he's had years of practice". _As __a __matter __of __fact,_ Deanna thought, while talking to the captain over the intercom, _that's __what __he's __doing __right __now, __by __failing __to __mention __Beverly._ He's decided that he isn't going to be affected by her departure and he's acting as if he hasn't been. It was like pretending that Beverly didn't exist, and Deanna knew better than to reprimand him for his efforts. After all, different people had different coping mechanisms.

"Captain..." she continued, gently. "Why don't you call her?"

"Oh, you think I haven't done that?" he exhaled. "You see, Deanna, ever since she left, we've been communicating. It was a means for maintaining our custom of having breakfast together, at least while the ship remained in orbit. A week ago, she started to be late for our calls, claiming she had overslept due to her late hours at work. At first, I thought she was upset with me, with my continued, even if veiled refusal to join her for dinner."

"Why did you object?" she asked, as impersonally as she could.

"There's a very large difference between morning meals and dinners which involve drinking and dancing, the latter not being exactly safe."

"Oh, so you were afraid of food poisoning, then?" she smiled.

"Deanna...!"

"I'm sorry, Captain! I'm sorry. Go on."

"Well... Today she didn't call at all. And when I decided to check to see if everything was all right, I was greeted on the viewscreen by Ensign Leavitt!"

By then, the impatience in his tone of voice would have been obvious to nearly anyone.

"Who's Ensign Leavitt?" she asked, calmly.

"That's what I asked _her_. She's one of Beverly's students, who has her permission to use her office to take some measurements of an ongoing research they're conducting. You see, Counselor, Doctor Crusher took the day off. And when did you ever know Doctor Crusher to do that? She didn't say anything about a day off to me!"

_He's still using our titles,_ Deanna thought with amusement, but she kept it off her tone.

"Why does that trouble you, Captain? Do you think she was engaged elsewhere and didn't know how to talk to you about it?"

"No, Deanna," he replied, somewhat resigned. "What worries me is not the fact that she's probably found someone else with whom she prefers to spend her free time. But something's wrong. We've been apart before." He was silent for a few seconds and when he talked again, his tone was softer. "Did you know that I never once told her how much I missed her when she left for Starfleet Medical for the first time?" He sighed. "She has been... _engaged __elsewhere_, as you put it, and so have I. But what really worries me is the fact that I can't pretend that everything is fine and carry on, like I always have. What really worries me is this dreadful notion I have that, this time, I won't be able to passively let the situation run its course."

_And __about __time __too!_ Deanna thought.

* * *

Once he had decided that he would do something, he was faced with yet another decision: what exactly was it that he intended to do? For starters, he thought he'd at least be honest with her, _this __time_, and tell her the truth: that he missed her terribly. Deanna was right: there was no point in pretending he didn't miss Beverly. When had he _not_ missed her? Even during all the years they had served on the same ship, they'd had so little free time together that he often caught himself missing her. He longed to talk to her. Sometimes, he found himself thinking of her during quiet night-shifts, with a yearning that didn't become the situation, given that she had been, then, just a few decks away. And he didn't just miss talking to her. He also missed looking at her, which was a whole different admission that he was not entirely sure he was ready to make, even if to himself.

After all, he hadn't managed to keep his hands off her all those years by openly admitting to himself that he liked to look at her. That he liked to be watchful of her... "The most common lie is that which one lies to himself". Picard didn't like it, but Mr. Nietzsche was right. He did lie to himself, in hope that it would help him fool her. As long as she thought he wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship, she wouldn't do anything that would make it impossible for him to refrain from speaking and from touching. And as difficult as it had been, he had always withdrawn, even if not promptly enough to prevent his witnessing the hurt look she gave him whenever he kept his distance. He couldn't bear it, to see how confused she looked, probably wondering how he managed to grow cold and distant after so many years of friendship. But he told himself that he did it for her, because she didn't want to change what they had between them. She had said so herself after Kesprytt.

That was but half-true, and therefore a half-lie: he also did it for himself. He didn't feel exactly worthy of being happy with his former best friend's wife, not when he'd wanted her so much while they were still married, not when he'd been responsible for Jack's death.

And yet he did love her, and couldn't help to do so, perhaps even more deeply than Jack had.


	4. Chapter 4

[San Francisco]

As soon as she entered her quarters, Doctor Crusher realized that something was blinking on the viewscreen of her intercom. She knew that it was a message, and she knew who had sent it, but could not bring herself to immediately read it. Instead, she took her time changing, brushing her hair, etc. because she wanted to retain the memory of the pleasant day she'd just had, instead of spoiling that with other not-so-pleasant memories.

She had spent the entire day with Admiral Janeway... with Kathryn. Being out like that in San Francisco was something she hadn't done ever since Wesley was little. Jack would come home on shore-leave and they'd take Wesley to the Golden Gate Park or to Baker Beach. Sometimes, Jean-Luc came along as well.

She smiled.

He was so different back then! He made her laugh and told her all about their missions on the Stargazer. He lent her books which he then refused to take back. (In fact, she still had them at home, except for his battered copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets, filled with annotations in his own hand, that she kept hidden in her room – wherever it was.) He invited them to restaurants and took them out to play dom-jot. He even offered to watch Wesley so that she and Jack could spend some time together, alone.

Beverly bit her lip. She didn't like to remember those days, because she knew, with certainty, that he had loved her from the start. And she couldn't help but imagine how difficult it must have been for him to see her with Jack. She hated the notion that she had caused him pain. She had felt his pain, literally, by the fireside, in Kesprytt. It was something she hadn't expected him to be capable of feeling, not on her account. It was power she didn't want: it had made her run away from him; it had forced them to lie to each other even when one could read the other's mind.

He'd said he didn't have those feelings anymore, and yet she could feel how he still loved her, how he had loved her all those years. She'd said that they were just friends, and yet she was sure he knew that she desperately wanted to stroke his face, to kiss him and make everything better because she couldn't bear that sad, despondent look in his eyes. Because she loved him back.

He felt guilty for loving her. She felt guilty for having hurt him when she was ignorant of that love.

But then she'd hurt him again once she found out. It was no use!

Beverly sighed and tried to put a stop to that line of reasoning. She wasn't about to indulge herself, allowing her to think of him like that for more than a few minutes. That was not how she had managed to remain friends and only friends with him all those years. That was not how she intended to go on with her life away from him. That was not how she planned to forget what they could have been, not when he insisted on keeping a distance even after she'd left. So instead, Beverly once again concentrated on her day off.

Kathryn had wanted to show her the aquarium. She'd smiled at first, commenting on how unusual a choice of outing it was. But when they spotted a coelacanth, and the admiral started talking about how old a species it was, and about how it was thought to be extinct up until the 20th century, then Beverly understood. Kathryn was fascinated, and kept giving out facts that were the mark of a true aficionado.

They had then gone to Golden Gate Park and were surprised to see that a centenary Shakespeare Festival was being held. They were playing "Much Ado About Nothing".

It was impossible not to remember _him_.

Especially when he'd invited her... invited them, Jack and her, to watch "Titus Andronicus" at that same festival years ago. He'd kept telling her about the play, whispering factoids in her ear, making her feel things she was not supposed to feel for him...

Alone in her apartment, Beverly suddenly became extremely irritated when she realized she was thinking about him again. She decided to read the message she knew he'd left, get it over with and go to bed with a reasonably sized glass of Port.

When she got to the console, she realized that there were messages, plural. She touched the controls and his face appeared.

"Beverly, hi..." he said, and then gave her a lopsided grin. "I wanted to see if everything was all right, since you missed breakfast today. I hope all is well with you."

The recording ended and she played the next one, timestamped a few hours after.

"Beverly, it's me again. I, uh... I wanted to ask you something." He laughed, nervously. "I wanted to ask you if you're upset with me, upset that I haven't yet beamed down to see you. I wish you'd tell me, if that be the case. You know you can... So, uh... please let me know ... when this reaches you."

There was one more transmission.

"Beverly..."

She liked that, how he always said her name. It made her feel things she was not supposed to feel for him...

"I was wondering... What if I came down tonight? Would you still save the last dance for me?"

She had often thought about the power she'd discovered she had over him: the power to make him happy, if she wanted, and the power to inadvertently hurt him. But, at moments like that, she'd also had to admit, and not infrequently, that he too had power over her.


	5. Chapter 5

[Officer's mess hall]

Jean-Luc entered the mess hall, his eyes quickly scanning his surroundings. He had beamed down earlier that day to meet with the Commandant of Starfleet Academy. That was what he intended to tell _her_, anyway. The truth was that Admiral Quay had been asking to see him ever since the Enterprise had come into orbit. Apparently, the admiral wanted Captain Picard to give a speech at the Academy. And so he'd come. After Beverly had withdrawn from him, that was, barely responding to the messages he'd left her a few days earlier.

If she no longer had feelings for him, then she'd have to tell him so, with the directness he'd come to expect from her over the years. He wouldn't let her run away again without so much as an explanation like he'd let her do before, so many times...

If she didn't want to see him or talk to him... Well, if she didn't want to talk to him, he'd want to hear it from her just the same, but then he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

He knew he was being dramatic, but entertaining that possibility alone had brought the realization that, at some point, he had begun to depend on her more than he had previously thought. She was the only one on whom he could count to always tell him the truth, regardless of _anything_ else. In fact, Beverly was the only person in the galaxy with whom he could be himself: not the captain, not the diplomat, but Jean-Luc. Of course, he considered both Will and Deanna as family and he loved both dearly, but he couldn't help but to be paternal towards them at times.

There was nothing paternal about the way he felt towards Beverly.

And that was not everything. He trusted her implicitly, not only on personal matters, but also on professional ones. There was nothing she couldn't do well, be it find a cure for a deadly virus or command his ship while in battle with the Borg. He was thinking about that, about how he'd admired her ever since she was a young doctor, all cuteness and determination, when he spotted her in the mess hall.

At first, he stopped walking. He _had_ missed that: being able to see her at the end of a day's work ("Weary with toil I haste me to my bed"); being able to memorize looks, expressions, tones, words which he would later replay in his mind, alone in his quarters, composing _new_ situations ("For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee").

There and then, at the mess hall, she was smiling, a tiny secretive smile. She looked absolutely gorgeous with her red hair down in waves around her face, neck and shoulders. After a few seconds of dumbfounded paralysis, Picard realized she wasn't alone. That smile had been for... Admiral Janeway... who now offered Beverly a sip of her fiery-red drink. He watched as the latter, after a small sip, put a hand over her mouth, face flushed and eyes watering. After another beat, she directed an accusatory look at Janeway, who dried a tiny drop of moist left on the corner of Beverly's lower lip with a quick brush of her thumb.

_Right. __Right._

Captain Picard was confused.

He'd been trying to prepare himself for the possibility of finding her out with someone, but he had to admit that he'd assumed it'd be a man. She'd never mentioned meeting Admiral Janeway. He was about to conclude his eyes had been deceiving him when he saw Beverly smile once again. Janeway glanced back at her with a sort of elation in her eyes.

Jean-Luc was not a jealous man. It wasn't jealousy he was feeling, it was puzzlement. At that moment, he couldn't understand why he had _never... __ever_ touched her like that when someone else (his superior, none less!) did it in front of everybody. He didn't understand why he had fought the urge to look at her like that, why he had been troubled for hours after the few times he'd failed.

For how long had Admiral Janeway known Beverly that she was allowed to do that whereas he wasn't?

The first looked nothing like she had whenever they'd talked to each other over subspace. Her hair was also hanging loose around her shoulders, except for the front part, which was tied into a puff. She looked remarkably younger.

It felt terribly inadequate and awkward and wrong to keep staring at the two of them, robbing them of their privacy. He decided he'd wait until morning to talk to Beverly and started to make his retreat. But he accidentally knocked a champagne flute off a nearby table, thus attracting attention to himself. More importantly, he attracted _her_ attention.

_ Well,__ "__the __readiness __is __all__"__,_ he thought.

Both women stood up as he approached. Kathryn was smiling and came to greet him with a squeeze of his arm. Beverly wasn't and didn't.

"Jean-Luc... it is so nice to finally meet you in person!"

"Likewise, Admiral. It almost seems as if we already had."

"Please join us! Have a drink."

For how long had Admiral Janeway known Beverly that they were now "us" whereas _he_ was the intruder?

"Oh, I don't want to intrude. Admiral Quay asked me to come down and see him and... I thought I'd make the time to call on Doctor Crusher."

He smiled, weakly. They hadn't even greeted one another.

"It is no intrusion. I've been waiting a long time to sit with you. But first, let me get more drinks."

She made a point out of going to the counter herself instead of ordering, and Beverly and Jean-Luc were left alone at the table.

"Beverly... aren't you even going to look at me?" he asked gently.

She did look up, surprised at how soft his tone of voice was, as well as at what he was saying.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" he continued. "Aren't you even a little bit pleased that I came to see _you_?"

"I thought you came to see Admiral Quay."

"Please, don't do that. You know why I'm here."

"No, Jean-Luc, I _don't_. The last time we talked, you had yet another excuse for why you couldn't have dinner with me."

"Is that why you haven't been calling me nor returning my messages?"

Doctor Crusher exhaled audibly.

"Can we talk about this some other time?" she asked.

He followed the direction of her gaze and saw that she was looking at the counter, where Admiral Janeway was picking up the drinks.

"That's exactly why I came, Beverly: to ask you if you were upset, to tell you that I'm sorry. There are so many things that I wanted to—"

"Not now, Jean-Luc!"

He sighed, frustrated, and didn't go on.

"All right, Beverly," he finished.

The captain stood up and met the admiral halfway, helping her carry the drinks to the table. He then told her he was expected back on the Enterprise immediately, making his apologies and shaking her hand. When he said goodbye to Beverly, however, they didn't touch. And so he left.

"You sent him away?" was Janeway's question. "Beverly, I... I'd understand if you wanted to go after him. What I mean is... I wouldn't blame you if you decided to pick up where you left. Whatever else we might... Well, let me put it this way: we're friends. I like you, I respect you... I want you to be happy."

The doctor seldom _didn't_ know what to say. But that evening, first with Jean-Luc's uncharacteristic determination towards her and then with Kathryn's speech, she found herself at a loss for words.

Temporarily.

"Kathryn, what do you mean by "pick up where we left"?"

"Your transfer and your reaction when I asked after him for the first time led me to believe you were no longer in a relationship. What happened?"

"Wait. Where did that come from, that we were together in the first place?"

"Oh, Beverly, I _am_ sorry to have to tell you this, but... it's a well-known fact. Everybody in Starfleet knows about it."

"Except it is not a fact at all! We have never... ever..." Doctor Crusher stopped, not knowing how to go on.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, you two—"

Admiral Janeway cut her sentence short when she saw the look on the doctor's face and realized that the latter was being very serious. After a few moments of consideration, she continued.

"Well, why on Earth not, young lady?"

Beverly laughed at the sudden change of tone. Gone was the young and fun Kathryn, and back was the distant, untouchable admiral. _Next, she'll be putting her hair up in a bun,_ Beverly thought. Still, she liked them both and, for the first time in her life, she talked about Jean-Luc to someone who was not an empath who already knew it all anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

[San Francisco]

When she was ready for bed, Janeway allowed herself to think back.

Oh, had _she_ been reckless, allowing herself to be taken in like that!

She supposed she had known from the start that Beverly still had feelings for Jean-Luc, but she assumed, because she wanted it to be true, that the other woman wanted to move on.

Then, that evening, she'd seen the two of them together, and it all became so obvious! She remembered how he had watched Beverly closely, waiting for her reaction, as if he could read her thoughts if only he stared at her long enough... And how grave Beverly had become, so different from the sarcastic and flirtatious woman to whom Janeway had become accustomed. Beverly and Jean-Luc hadn't touched, not once, denoting tension that didn't become people who were just friends.

But, most of all, she thought back at how foolish she, Janeway, had been: foolish to think that it might amount to something just because she had a schoolgirl infatuation.

On the upside, she wouldn't have to spend 7 years stuck on a ship in the Delta Quadrant with Beverly, i.e. someone who was off limits. She was positive she couldn't go through that all over again, working close to someone she cared for, seeing how he cared for her, seeing how he _wanted_ her... and not being able to do anything about it.

On the downside, it didn't make her feel any less foolish.

She had endured it for 7 years, but she'd moved on, and so had he. It troubled her to think that someone, namely Jean-Luc, had been in that same situation for the past 30 years or more! And it was very possible that Beverly had been going through the same for almost as long.

Kathryn had told the truth: she wanted Beverly to be happy. She liked them both and, after everything she'd seen and heard that day, she couldn't help but wonder if there was anything she could do about their...situation.

How did the play go, the one they'd watched on the park? Oh, yes! "Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps". She'd think of something. She always did.

* * *

At the same time and also suffering from insomnia, Jean-Luc was pacing the floor of his quarters, back on the Enterprise. If that had been a mission, he would have failed miserably. He thought he had anticipated every possible contingency, but that obviously hadn't been the case. And then, again, he felt more equipped to dealing with any hostile non-Federation alien race than with that particular situation at hand, one which he had avoided for nearly half his life.

Leave it to Beverly to make him feel as uncertain of himself as a first-year cadet!

The truth was... he'd always thought they'd be together at some point in the future. Every time he'd ever gotten a glimpse of future and/or alternative timelines, they'd always been together.

At first, there'd been that incident with the other member of the Q-continuum, the one who called himself Trelane and who had brought his Enterprise in contact with other Enterprises [1]. During those fateful days, he'd been the target of the psychotic outbursts of an insanely jealous Jack Crusher. In that other reality, Jack had been Beverly _Howard_'s ex-husband. From what Jean-Luc could gather, the man had caught the other Picard with Doctor Howard.

And there'd been that other episode, when they'd found out about Irumodic Syndrome. That was no alternate world to him! He was there then, living it, taking her hands in his, trying to assuage her pain...! The fact that Q (always Q!) had changed everything back to a point before _that_ hadn't erased the memory of that kiss in his Ready Room, of how beautiful she looked, of how happy he felt. And what to say of the future time in which he'd been able to participate during those days? She'd been Captain _Picard_, and even if they were separated, he still loved her. He laughed, alone in his quarters, when he remembered having thought, in the middle of that chaos that was their situation and the insides of his brain, how those lines on the corner of her eyes had become her.

_You __say __you've __always __known __you'd __sort __it __out,_ came the accusation, _but __you've __had __relationships __with __other __women. __You've __even __paraded __them __in __front __of __her._ He had to admit that he'd gone to extremes at times. But none of it mattered, really. Jean-Luc classified his relationships into two groups: before Kesprytt and after Kesprytt (as dramatic as it sounded to him).

Before what happened in Kesprytt III, she didn't know how he felt and he had sworn that he would never tell her. He would never have considered her as an option. His only option, in fact, was to try to fall in love with someone else. Most of his relationships fell into this category, and he didn't feel like he owed an explanation to himself: he had been merely trying.

Still, they had been brief, all of them. And what to say of Lieutenant Commander Nella Darren? It took him months to realize, after her departure from the Enterprise, that she was strikingly similar to Beverly in many ways, from personality traits to physical features, not forgetting the color of their uniform.

Only she wasn't Beverly. He felt bad for realizing he had been looking for a substitute and felt even worse because it was as if he'd used and then disposed of a very fine woman whose only fault, it seemed, was not being someone else.

And then there was the other category of relationships, the ones (or rather the one, really) he'd had after Kesprytt. He had excellent excuses for that one.

1. Beverly had told him she didn't want to change their relationship.

2. He'd been under the influence of the metaphasic radiation of the Ba'ku planet and he didn't want to make a fool of himself. So, particularly after watching what happened to Will and Deanna, he made sure he kept as far away from Beverly as he possibly could.

3. Anij was an intelligent and a beautiful woman etc.

His list of excuses went up to #7. He needed them, because there were times when he thought she had looked wounded.

Beverly, not Anij.

As for the latter, he'd told her he'd come back on shore leave. Deep down, he knew he wouldn't. It was similar to being drunk and promising oneself to do a number of things the following day, such as writing to one's father or saying "I love you" to one's CMO. After being under the influence of alcohol enough times, one just knows that those are empty promises which won't be kept the next day.

As for Beverly... well, it had always been about her. Even when they were estranged during those years after Jack's death, when he knew he wouldn't have been able to bear an accusatory look from her. Even then it'd been about her.

At his present time, he knew that he wouldn't have found any trace of accusation in her eyes. Thanks to those Prytt implants, there was a lot he had found out about her. Equally, there was a lot he hadn't been able to keep from her. "Stray day-dreams", she'd called it...

Still, why "now"? Why was "now" a better time to act on his feelings and inadequacies than any of the previous moments when he'd been faced with them?

_Because you __don't __want __to __leave __if __she'll __stay,_ came the reply. He knew he would leave, if he had to, but it was not what he wanted. Not after believing, and for a good number of years, that they'd eventually resolve their situation sometime in the future. But what future was that? As far as he knew, during his next mission, it would be him, and not Data, and then what future would there be? And even if that was not the case, what could they possibly accomplish by being apart from each other? They'd been apart for a few weeks, and already she was pushing him away.

Beating around the bush when it came to seeing her had been, he admitted, infantile behavior. It was running away from _them_, just as she was then doing by not answering his messages. Childish as it might be, the fact that she was keeping him away brought him confusion and pain. Only then was he able to imagine what those days that immediately followed her transfer, when _he_ kept her away, must have been for her.

He was an idiot, and he felt like one... But he wasn't going to let that stop him.

[1] from "Q-Squared", by Peter David

* * *

Beverly was looking at the sky. She was alone, in her uniform, phaser holstered at one side of her waist, medical tricorder at the other. Her location looked like Baker Beach. She could see the Golden Gate Bridge, but it was deserted. So was the beach and, as much as she tried, she couldn't see or hear anything that denounced the presence of another human being anywhere around her.

Suddenly, she went cold. Because, right then, as often happens in dreams, she realized that she was the only one left on the planet. Her attention was drawn back to the sky when she noticed a flickering light out of the corner of her eye. The light went out. Then another star flickered briefly until its light also went out. And another, and another. In every direction she looked, the stars were fading.

She knew that it made no sense! The sky was not a two-dimensional dome. Even if all stars collapsed at the same point in time, a person on the planet would perceive each different episode at a different time, ranging from a bit over 4 years from the occurring event to over 2 million years!

When all the stars had gone and the moon had no longer any light to reflect, the streetlamps and other assorted light sources began to fade as well. After a few moments, she was left completely alone and in the dark.

In a sense, her dream-self had always known that, someday, she'd find herself in that position. At that moment, she thought about Jean-Luc. If only she hadn't sent him away! If only she hadn't come up with the absurd idea of forgetting him, then maybe they would have talked, and he'd be there on the beach with her.

Beverly awoke. The dream had seemed so real to her for a few seconds that she got up and looked out the window of her apartment. The stars were still there, and so was the Enterprise, she knew, even if she couldn't see it.


	7. Chapter 7

[San Francisco]

The following day, both Jean-Luc and Beverly received personal messages from Kathryn Janeway. The one she sent to Beverly was an invitation to have dinner together at a nice café that served Italian. The one she sent Jean-Luc was more of a summons to appear at the attached address, to discuss the fallout of the Reman Uprising over dinner. "Unofficial", the message had read, "off the record". He did ask himself why he was being summoned at that particular day (considering the encounter from the previous night). He did think that there was something odd about the proceedings. But none of that raised any suspicion in him of what was about to happen, not even arriving at the designated address and discovering a café there.

He entered, anyway. The place was half-lit and small. It was also very elegantly decorated, which contributed to the pleasant and somewhat sensuous atmosphere of the room. The captain knew then that, whatever the admiral had to say, it wasn't going to be of a professional nature. Nevertheless, he still didn't suspect anything, and so he said his name, and hers, to a host, who took him to an empty table.

After a couple of minutes, none of his confusion mattered anymore, because he saw her... He saw Beverly enter the room and talk to the host, just as he had done. Only she wasn't in uniform, but in a black off-shoulder dress which he had never seen. She seemed to favor that kind of cut, he thought, and so did he on her, most emphatically. That was the reason he imagined he must have looked like a fool when the host pointed him out to her.

When she reached the table, both of them realized that, if they could look beyond the awkwardness of the situation, they were indeed very glad to see each other. Beverly was relieved that nobody there knew who they were, and Jean-Luc was just incredibly happy to be "alone" with her. He got up and kissed her cheek before drawing a chair for her.

"Beverly... I didn't know you were joining us."

"Well, _I_ didn't know you were joining us either."

_Oh._

"I'm sure Kathryn will be here any minute," she continued.

They ordered drinks and made casual conversation until they realized that they had been set up and that Admiral Janeway wasn't coming after all. A few necessary utterances were exchanged after that, which aimed at understanding the motivation behind Janeway's actions. That wasn't very hard.

"Why, Beverly, I never thought you'd put a superior officer up to this just so that you could be alone with me...!" he said, to break the ice.

"I did NOT!" she responded indignantly.

"I mean, you could have just said something; I would have come."

"Jean-Luc!" she complained. "You know that's not what happened!"

He looked at her, sporting a rare boyish grin on his face. Then, because she was beginning to pout, he took one of her hands in his and kissed the back of her fingers.

"I know that, Beverly."

She didn't recoil, but he knew that she wasn't entirely comfortable, and so he let go of her hand. He didn't have to use words to ask her, though.

"It's just that... everything is very different..."

"There's no harm in doing things a bit differently, is there? I mean... one does tend to get... tired of doing everything the same way always. Don't you?"

Her eyes narrowed.

"I've seen this before," she said.

"This? You mean this place?"

"No. I mean your behavior. There was this one time when I had dinner with a very gallant, very charming Jean-Luc Picard. Only it wasn't the real Jean-Luc!"

"Do you mean to say that the real Jean-Luc, that _I_ am mostly heedless and unattractive?" He smiled.

"No, I mean to say that the _real_ Jean-Luc does not advocate change."

Before he had a chance to reply, their drinks arrived. He waited until they were "alone" again.

"You've known me for so long, Beverly. Have I really not changed in all these years?"

"Not unreluctantly!"

He laughed. She was right, of course. He knew that what he proposed to do, or rather how he proposed to behave must seem aberrant to her. It seemed unusual to him as well, but it was not arbitrary.

"Beverly, I've spent most of my life resisting change. And look what happened! I first lost the Stargazer, and then the Enterprise. Now my crew is almost completely made of people I don't know. Data is gone; Will and Deanna are no longer close by... And what to say of the thing that feels most familiar to me? Our friendship, Beverly... I don't think you realize how much I depend on it."

_On __you._

"You haven't lost our friendship, Jean-Luc. In fact, nothing about it has changed."

"Could we please go back to being blatantly honest with each other? See, that's one thing that's changed: being completely honest. That and the fact that you don't seem to see in me the same friend as before."

"I _am_ being honest! You are my best friend, Jean-Luc, and I couldn't change that if I tried."

"But you have tried, haven't you?"

She heard people moving about on the stage and looked away, using that small distraction to buy her some time. The band was tuning their instruments. When she glanced back at him, he was still waiting.

"We are friends. I understand that. I appreciate that! But it's not always as simple as that, is it? When it's convenient, then we're just friends and nothing more, because it's safer that way. But then, when it comes to behaving like friends, to doing things that friends do, suddenly it's not safe anymore. Because we're not "just friends". I don't think we've ever been "just friends"."

"And I didn't behave like your friend after you transferred to Starfleet Medical."

"No, you didn't."

Again, he took her hands in his.

"Will you forgive me, Beverly?"

"Well, my reaction wasn't exactly commendable."

"I think I deserved it."

"I think you did, too. But I didn't act out of spite, Jean-Luc."

She was smiling and, consequently, so was he. Everything around them was pleasant: the drinks, the place, the music that had begun playing (one of Will's favorites) and the company. The feeling of relief they'd both felt soon after arriving had just become stronger. He proposed a toast: that they always remember that, first and foremost, they were friends. He swore to himself that he would never again put his inadequacies before her needs. He wouldn't protect the boundaries of his comfort zone at the expense of her welfare.

"You gave me quite a scare, you know," he began, "I didn't expect to miss you half as much. And then, when you wouldn't tell me what was going on..."

"I'm sorry."

She reached out and stroked the side of his face. He leaned towards her palm, closing his eyes, and then he took hold of her hand and pressed it against his lips. He allowed himself to look at her without making any effort to keep his face neutral. He was sure she could interpret that look of devotion in his eyes that seemed to say "thank you for this". But his expression soon changed when she looked back at him in surprise, her mouth half-open: it was irresistible.

"You _are_ the double, aren't you?" she joked.

"Oh, I'm not allowed to kiss your hand?"

"You're allowed to do what you like, Jean-Luc. It's just that you're doing a lot of things for the first time _at __the __same __time_."

"Just you watch me, Doctor."

"Would dancing be one of the things with which you plan to surprise me tonight, Captain?"

He smiled and got up, extending a hand which she promptly accepted. They walked to the place where other people were dancing.

"Very acute, Doctor," he said.

They were in each other's arms, slowly moving to the mellow tune. She looked down and pressed her lips together, suppressing a small smile. Jean-Luc waited for the explanation he knew would come.

"It's been a while since we were last able to dance like this, unconcerned with any possible onlookers."

"When did we ever- Oh. You know, Beverly, I'm beginning to feel a bit jealous of him: he had my memories, but I don't have his."

"For which I was very glad at the time!"

"Your report at the time, Doctor, only informed me that you had dinner together," he said, smiling. "But new information has come up which suggests you were careless in writing it."

She laughed. "Wouldn't _you_ like to know?"

"Let's see... He asked you to dance."

"He did," she replied.

"Did he tell you that you looked absolutely beautiful?"

"Why, as a matter of fact, Jean-Luc, he did."

"Did he tell you that you are so beautiful that it often required considerable effort on his part to keep from staring at you whenever you were out of uniform?"

"He didn't reciprocate my predilection for his uniform, then?"

"I'm sure he liked how you looked in your uniform, I'm sure he liked it very much. But then, what a reminder it must have been for him of your post, and his."

"He must have forgotten to mention that part."

"And did he tell you that there were so many things that he wanted to say, that he wanted to do...?"

"He said nothing of the sort. But if he had, I wouldn't know what to make of it. What could he possibly have wanted to say or do?"

"He would have wanted you to know that... even though you were his closest friend, there were things about him that even you didn't know... About... about how the distance he put between himself and you was mere facade. About how deeply he was capable of feeling, and how constant and ardent an affection he was able to maintain."

She closed the distance between them and pressed her cheek against his. "I _do_ know, Jean-Luc," she whispered in his ear. "I know."

* * *

He didn't have to focus on keeping up appearances, and so he directed all his attention to her. He kept experimenting, trying to detect minor changes. When he exerted firmer pressure on her waist, she did the same to his neck; when he rested his hand on her lower back, she rested hers on his chest; when he brushed her naked shoulders with his fingers, he could feel her shivering. The notion that she reacted to him was overpowering, as well as extremely flattering.

But then he reacted to her as well. He had tentatively explored her responses, but she went about his in a much more clinical way. It was all she could do to keep from obsessing over the idea of kissing him. So... tachycardia, tachypnea, perspiration, piloerection and mydriasis: all text-book effects of an overactive Sympathetic Nervous System.

They danced the next few songs in companionable silence, perfectly content with holding one another while swaying to the music. After a while, they went back to their table.

She allowed him to surprise her by ordering for the two of them, a nice change from those times when she chose Circassian and Vulcan dishes for their breakfasts together. And so they had a splendid ricotta gnocchi with spinach and butter and sage sauce, accompanied by a nice bottle of Californian Merlot. For dessert, there were fried figs with raspberries, orange juice and whipped cream, and some Port. And, before leaving, they had an almond flavored rooibos red tea.

Beverly _was_ surprised. She had always known that he was man of more delicate, more sophisticated tastes. But it had been a most sensory experience. Each of her 5 senses had been stimulated in turns. There was the smell of his after-shave and of the wine. She had tasted different flavors, such as the sourness of the orange juice together with the sweetness of the cream, or the bitterness of the spinach with the salty of the seasoned ricotta. Then there was the music, so mellow and pleasing, that triggered her recently-formed memory of dancing with him. And somehow they kept touching: a brush of the tips of their fingers, a kiss on the cheek, a pat on the shoulder. Lastly, there was the sight of him, smiling and looking at her as if she were the only person in the universe. And he _was_ a very attractive man. She couldn't help but notice how the long sleeves of his civilian cotton shirt adjusted to his arms. She could make out his muscles... deltoid, biceps, triceps...

By then, they were already walking along the street, arm in arm.

"You know..." Jean-Luc said, breaking the silence. "Sometimes I wish we were back at Kesprytt. Right now, I would very much enjoy having the ability to read your thoughts."

"If you want to know what I'm thinking, you can always ask."

"I was only wondering if that smile could possibly have anything to do with our evening."

"I was thinking about my first Anatomy class."

He was puzzled, and also a bit disappointed. Anticipating his next question, she ran her free hand over the arm that was intertwined with hers, pointing out.

"Deltold, biceps and triceps."

Jean-Luc laughed heartily. He felt giddy, partly from the wine and partly from being able to stay so close to her.

After a few blocks, they reached San Francisco Bay. Beverly suggested they resume their walk on a secluded promenade that had been rebuilt after the Breen Attack, a little over a century earlier.

"I've never been here before," Jean-Luc told her.

"I hadn't either. It was Kathryn who showed it to me."

"Kathryn? You mean _Admiral_ Janeway..."

"May I remind you that the only reason we're here is that she—"

"I know, my darling, I'm sorry," he exhaled. "I didn't mean it to sound like that."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and brought it to his lips. They walked in a direction that allowed them a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, with its orange lights beautifully reflected on the water surface. As they went, they passed other people, equally engaged in intimate conversation.

"_This_ feels right," she said, "but at the same time, I can't shake off the feeling that it's a bit... strange."

He stopped walking, so that he could look at her.

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"Being closer to you feels comfortable. In part, I can't see why we didn't start behaving more at ease around each other a long time ago. On the other hand... when I think of being like this with _you_, with _Captain_ Jean-Luc Picard, then none of it seems very real."

"Beverly... Nothing is different now from the countless times we've been alone together, in my quarters or yours. I'm the same person you've known for the past 35 years."

"But it _is_ different! Think about it, Jean-Luc!" She started counting the points she made on the fingers of one hand. "We are off duty and out of uniform. We're on the planet... in San Francisco, where... well, where we first met, all those years ago. We were in that café, with the lights and the music, with real alcohol... And you are the same man, but you've never been so... so frank."

"Neither have you."

They smiled. He held her hand and they resumed their stroll.

"Did you ever wonder what happened in that alternate timeline, the one that Q showed me when he kept making me go back and forth in time, the one in which we had been married? What do you think happened to lead us to that?"

"Perhaps we were stranded on a planet, just the two of us, with no perspective of rescue... Maybe we were the only two people there, and it was the future. Or the past. And we thought one of us had a fatal disease. And the other was nearly killed in a ship crash. And—"

"Beverly!"

"I was getting there! Well, maybe we finally decided to work things out. Years later, that is."

"It doesn't have to be like that."

Once again, he stopped walking, making her lose her balance because of their joined hands. He leaned his back against the railings and pulled her towards him. She put both her hands on his chest, snuggling closer as he held her by the waist.

"Why should I wait until you're in a perilous situation? I have _already_ lost you. I _already_ miss you. It should be enough that I haven't been able to think about anything other than you. It should be enough that I can't dismiss what I feel for you. I never could, I... I can't."

_You __don't __have __to, __I __don't __want __you __to_, she thought. His expression softened while he watched her face, and then she leaned in and kissed him, capturing his lower lip between hers. After the smallest suction, she lowered her head, eyes closed, and pressed her lips together. He ran a hand through her hair, brushing it away from her neck so that he could have access to it. How well he remembered her smell, that faint almond scent that had kept him company in his quarters so many nights after she had already left... What he couldn't remember, though, because he had never experienced it, was the inarticulate sound escaping her lips while he kissed and tasted. When their lips touched again, she was not half as tentative as before. On the contrary, she deepened the kiss, leaning against him.

As for him, he could take the kissing; he could take that hand on his neck. He could not, however, take those little muffled sounds she made, which cause his lips to vibrate.

"Beverly," he whispered, "please..."

She looked him, with a slightly tilted head.

"Please... _what_?"

"You know perfectly well what."

She did.

"No, I don't. Is it "please" as in "please, stop" or is it "please" as in "please, go on"?"

"Both."

"Well, I can't do both, Jean-Luc. But you can take your time figuring it out."

She went back to kissing him, this time nuzzling his jaw line until she reached his earlobe.

"It is _most __definitely_ "please" as in "please, stop"," he panted.

Her smile widened.

"Whatever you say, Jean-Luc."

"Don't say that, it doesn't help."

He pulled her closer again and kept kissing her neck, her cheeks, her lips, etc. while she continued.

"I could be much more helpful if I understood your reasoning," she managed to say between breaths. "Because "stop" could mean you're having second thoughts about this, but then again it could also mean that you need help coming up with an excuse for your First Officer, to account for the fact that you won't be getting back until tomorrow."

"Didn't causality loops and mass amnesia teach you anything, Doctor?" he said, still kissing her repeatedly. "We must never second-guess ourselves."

She smiled and they looked at each other for a few moments. He was completely taken in, and much too concentrated on her eyes and the shortness of her breath to come up with words with which to express how he felt then. He knew he didn't have to and the confirmation came shortly after.

"I love you too, Jean-Luc," she whispered in his ear.

He kissed the wrist connected to the hand that held his neck.

"Let's go home," he said.

"Let's go home."

the end


End file.
